


a girl made of fire and stardust (shining even brighter than the stars)

by greekdemigod



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Cheating, F/F, Fluff, Pre-Series, brief mention of Emilio, i think, rated M for something Luisa says
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8307922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekdemigod/pseuds/greekdemigod
Summary: or: luisa is too pure for this world and rose can't handle it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stop thinking about these two, and apparently I can't stop writing about them either. Just a fluffy little thing to tide myself (and you guys!) over until the episode tonight.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Here’s the thing about Luisa Alver: she is fire. Fiery, passionate, ferocious. Dangerous—but only to herself. She’s always burning bridges, burning herself, burning down to ashes. Her dark eyes smolder when she allows herself to feel her anger and when she makes love to you, it’s like being devoured by flames.

Which is why it makes no sense that Luisa is _always_ cold.

Luckily for her, the climate of Miami is very agreeable—all hot, humid summers and short, warm winters. It explains why roughly eighty percent of her wardrobe consists of summer dresses and skirts.

But as soon as the Winter, or God forbid the Fall even, dares to get dry and cold, it’s like she has been relocated to Alaska.

* * *

The spot next to her is cold. Rose notices it instantly when she, just awoken, rolls over, intent on snuggling into Luisa’s side and drowse for a while longer, and finds the woman gone. She sits up instead, lets the sheets slide off of her, feels her curls settle over her shoulders, but she’s all alone in the spacious, very heavily blue-accented room.

She wonders if Luisa went to work, then remembers it’s Saturday. She wonders if maybe Emilio came home and Luisa had to sneak off without getting to say goodbye, but him getting into bed always jars her awake—and she doesn’t even want to think about all the times he wakes her up on purpose, to have a “proper reunion”. She much prefers thinking of last night.

There seems to be only one way to find out. If Luisa’s not in this room, she might be in the other one. And if not, her phone should be thereabout, too. She’ll have to get up.

The room isn’t just very blue, it’s also very soft; soft bed, soft carpet, soft winter light illuminating the room through open curtains. It’s not the first time they have forgotten about closing those in their hurry to get to the damned bed already.

She wraps an impossibly soft, impossibly snowy white bathrobe—sporting the Marbella logo—around herself and makes her way into the adjoining living room/kitchen space, though she doesn’t get much further than the threshold.

And she is so grateful for the plush, sound-muffling carpet now because this is a sight she would have hated to disrupt—and one she might never, hopefully, forget.

Despite the simplicity of it. Or maybe _because_ of the simplicity of it.

Luisa lies curled up on the couch, reading a book Rose distinctly remembers being knocked out of her hand last night, because “I know something you could spread open like that,” had been an argument she couldn’t counter.

Seeing Luisa read is almost magical on its own. She never sits still for quite this long, never stays quiet for quite this long either. But that isn’t all.

It’s what she’s _wearing_ , like she’s about to brave a snow storm.

Long ski socks have been pulled over the legs of what look to be thick sweatpants. Not much of it is visible though, because a maroon-red Harvard hoodie falls too big on her lithe, slender frame, reaching to her mid-thigh and the sleeves dangle off her hands.

That’s where the only movement of Luisa’s body is concentrated, too. She’s flipping the ends of the sleeves up and off her wrists. She’s _flopping the sleeves_. It’s like she’s a child, full of boundless energy, needing to move in even the slightest ways.

She’s got the hood pulled over her ears and her knees tucked up to her chest, book held open with one hand. There’s a small worry line creasing across her forehead, and when she reads a certain line a stubborn pout sets on her lips.

Rose can’t help but smile fondly, while something incessant tugs at her heart. It feels sharp and stinging, like being stabbed—she has experience—but unfamiliar regardless. But she doesn’t want to ponder what it means at all, or worry about prematurely getting a heart condition.

While Luisa is engrossed in the book, Rose is engrossed in _her_.

Until Luisa stretches out, arms above her head, the tiniest, softest sound of satisfaction escaping her before she settles back into her position. Rose can’t help but feel affection—and, admittedly, arousal, because that always happens around the other—flare up in the pit of her stomach.

She could watch the other woman like this forever. In fact, if her phone hadn’t been in the pocket of her skirt discarded across the room she would have made a picture to cherish it forever. Instead she takes another long, poised moment to take in the details—loose, wavy hair peeking out from under the hood, toes wiggling inside thick socks, the continuous flopping of the sleeves.

Never before has Luisa looked this innocent and pure—never this _too good for the world, definitely too good for_ me.

Rose sighs softly to break the spell and sits down next to her before Luisa has fully blinked out of the story and into reality. As soon as those dark eyes come to rest on Rose a wide grin splits that beautiful face that keeps pulling her in and in and in (Luisa might be fire, but it always feels like drowning).

“Cold?” Rose asks, tongue tracing along the tips of her teeth as she smiles. “You could put on the heater, you know.”

“I _did_ ,” she huffs indignantly, then puts the book away and burrows into Rose’s side. “But you and your dumb hands and feet of ice.”

Rose does easily get cold hands and feet, but Luisa usually never complains about those. “I’ll warm them.” She laughs softly, shakes her head, and makes good use of the way they’re positioned to slide her fingers up underneath the maroon hoodie. “You’re irresistible in my clothes.”

Luisa scrunches her nose up, mouth slightly agape to let pass a small puff of breath. There she goes again, being too endearing for Rose to handle.

* * *

It becomes harder to remember the innocent Luisa when the woman writhes and moans and bucks in her lap, but somehow Rose still manages.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
